© 2012 Timmy Tamisiea. All rights reserved. Yeah, she's Willy Wonka.

206/365 – Played

Kids.  Children.  They’re little scam artists they are.  Using their cuteness to render adults helpless.  Using that helplessness to get what they want whenever they want it.  Most parents are immune.  But, if you’re a childless adult, you are suseptavble to that weakness.  Megan and I are childless adults . . . we’re susceptible.

Example: We all know Kevin is a cute kid, but wait till act 3 when he performs remorseless acts of violence.

Remember this girl:

This is Izzy Clark . . . daughter of Jeremy Clark — the director of Oracle Film — the organization featuring my films this weekend.  Izzy is a mischievous and entirely cunning child.  She has a self awareness of her own cuteness and uses it to her advantage – which makes her the most dangerous kid alive.  It’s like there’s a 30 year old in there that just doesn’t care what you think about her.  Megan and I like to refer to her as the Janeane Garofalo of babies.

Once, when Megan was babysitting her, she went into her bedroom to check in on her.  Izzy stood up in her crib and casually said, “Up?”  Megan said, “No, Izzy.  I’m just checking on you.  You have to go to bed.”  Remember, this is a toddler we’re talking about, and Megan’s having an adult conversation with her.  Now, Izzy hears what Megan has said and casually sits back down and says, “Oh, okay.”  It’s as if she’s aware that her ploy failed and she resigned to being in her jail cell till her reprieve in the morning.  Like she’s saying to herself, “Good try, Izzy.  Next time.”

This is one half of her parole board, so, you know, I think she’ll make bail.

Jeremy stopped by the apartment today and he brought this little whipper snapper with him.  Let me tell you — she played Megan like a fiddle.  It was like art.  Clever, sugar induced art.  As soon as she comes in she works over Megan for getting the one thing she knows we have . . sweets.  It’s like she won the golden ticket and Megan and I run Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.  Except we’re in no way as clever as Willy Wonka . . .or Izzy.  I think Izzy is Willy Wonka.

Yeah, she’s Willy Wonka.

Izzy had already cased the joint at our Christmas party.  It was there where she ate her fill of espresso cookies.  Kids don’t forget that shit.  They have an uncanny memeory when it comes to sugar highs.  For Izzy, our house was ground zero for a sweets meltdown.  As soon as she comes in, she asks, “Do you have any candy?”  Like she doesn’t already know the answer

The crime begins.

I sit down with Jeremy to go over some business and while Megan and Izzy head to the kitchen.  Less than a minute later, this child comes waddling into the room, Megan in tow, with chocolate smeared all over her face.  Operation Bon Bon was clearly a success.  I should interject here that I am no stranger to children and the sugar overload.  This kid is gonna explode later and we’ll be the culprits . . . although it’s Megan who is providing the drug, we’re married now, so we even share blame.  It’s only fair.

Of course, the Reverend never said, “Do you agree that all sugar induced crimes will be the work of both of you.”  Nope, never said that.

We try to find an activity for Izzy.  But, she already has an activity; replacing the bon bon she just ate with another high fructose delight.  This time, it’s off to a crystal candy tray.  Inside lies hard candy goodness.  That goodness, for Izzy, is equivalent to blood in the water for a shark.  She has NO trouble finding it.

I must interject again and point out that while Megan and I can take most blame, we both told Izzy every time a sweet was involved, “If it’s okay with your dad.”  So . . . bad parenting, Jeremy Clark!  Now back to how we open pandora’s box with orange ginger hard candy.

Izzy delights in sucking on these candies we got over christmas that we never touch . . . Oh, God.  I just realized . . . crystal candy dish with hard candy — what are we, Senior Citezens.  We’re practically screaming out Grandpa and Grandma to Izzy . . .

This will be next fro Izzy if we don’t stop letting her get away with her habit.

In any case, this girl knows who to work the scene, because now she has Megan putting Rango on Netflix instant while her chocolate covered face sucks down hard candy.  She’s practically working up a sweat . . . so, of course she’s thirsty.  Boom.  Juice boxes.  The very ones from our Christmas party . . . see a pattern here?

Megan, in a fit of solidarity, grabs her own juice box.  Of course, while Izzy enjoys her juice box, she must try Megan’s.  I mean, she needs to assert her control over the house . . . that and the fat that who knows if Izzy got the good juice box or not?  So, she just casually sidle up to the the juice box sitting on the coffee table and sips . . . then sidles back to her own.  Nope.  Her’s was clearly better.  All juice boxes belong to Izzy, I suppose.

Evidence . . . the equivalent of 100 kilos of cocaine.

We’re not done, though.  Now Izzy wants to look in the fridge and what does she find?  Chocolate yogurt . .. otherwise known as pudding.  Round 4.  Megan grabs her a spoon and Izzy sits and gobbles up large spoonfuls of “Chocolate Yogurt.”

Then, preempting her father’s need to get back home, she stands up and says “Go home now.”  The subtext?  “I think I’ve cleaned out all the sweets here, time to move on.”   Good bye Izzy.  We gotta restock for your next visit.

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